I know its been a while since I have posted, and to be honest, it was with good reason. Sometimes I wonder how much other people care about what I write or how I race, but at then end of the day, writing for me is cathartic. I would writes even if no one read, because it helps me get a better handle on what I have going on in life. And by doing this, I can step back and see exactly what's going on and where I want to go from this point.
Last weekend I traveled up to Cadillac, MI to race the Lumberman Du, as I needed to get a race in my legs and to get my head back in the game. 2 weeks prior, on June 13, I sat in my hotel room in Ohio, trying to get ready to race the Flag City Duathlon, one which I wanted to do very badly, but I couldn't move. I could barely lift my head off the pillow, and I stumbled to the mirror to wash my face. My vision was blurred, and I felt dizzy. It had seemed the stress of work and training and everyday life had caught up to me, and for the first time in years, a race morning had arrived, and all I could think about was going back to sleep. And that's exactly what I did. Sure I spent 15 minutes cursing myself, willing myself to get dressed and go, but as tears came down my face, I realized, racing would not have done me any good, and most likely would have made me feel worse.
After getting up 2 hours later, I drove home in near silence, not sure what to do. Thankfully, my coach Jen had provided me some words of comfort and solace, making me realize that to push on this day would have caused longer lasting issues. So, I got home, unpacked and went for a run, hoping to clear the cobwebs. It didn't help. And 2 days later, I found out why, as I sat in a doctor's office, with a horrible ear and sinus infection. It gave me a bit of comfort knowing there was nothing wrong with my legs, or lungs, but the question was-how did Iget to that point? Had I pushed to hard in training or tried to squeeze in too much with work? On a couple's days rest, I thought about that. I thought about why my workouts seemed to be more difficult to get through. Why going to work was becoming a struggle. The answer lied in what is in many of us Type A's - we don't stop until we hit the wall, and when we do, its a nasty crack. I had been pushing to prove people wrong, pushing to prove that I deserved respect, basically, pushing for all the wrong reasons. I used to love every training session, every race, no matter the difficulty, b/c the sport is where I found my peace, it is my sanctuary. Because the road never talks back, it doesn't shout at you, it doesn't leave you, its always there, waiting for you.
After a couple days of letting the antibiotics get in my system, I started to train again, builing slowly. I figured I needed a race though, b/c I don't like long breaks, I get stale and my race sharpness tends to fade. So Michigan it was. Saddled with a new bike, and still on some heavy doses of antibiotics, I wanted to see where my legs where, but more importantly, where my head was.
The thing is, even as we try to slow down our daily lives when a race approaches, and keep ourselves away from unecessary stress, life doesn't always see it the same way. But instead of fighting against it, I went with it, and found it wasn't so bad. I arrived at the race feeling revived, and excited. Although it was windy, I felt decent in my warm up, and figured I'd drop it from the gun and see what happened.
As we started, I carefully put myself at the front, and would change the pace with surges every couple minutes to see if I could shed some guys. As we hit the turn around, I realized it was working. So, I kept that going all the way in to T1, and from the looks of the faces of the guys who were still close, they weren't feeling so great. I had just run my best opening 5K of the season in just over 17 minutes, without ever going in to the red, or really pushing too hard. The bike changed my world though. On a new bike that I had only ridden 3 times before the race, I couldn't get comfortable. I was constantly moving around on my saddle, trying to find that "sweet spot" where you can just put your head down and go. I gritted it out though, but found myself passed by one athlete, who put about 45 seconds into me. But I was trusting my running legs, so I was not too worried. Then the amount of antibiotics I was on caught up to me. I was sweating way more than usual and found myself getting badly dehydrated. As I drank the rest of my bottle and took a few Enlyten strips, I was hoping it would be enough to win the day.
I got into T2, quickly changed and zipped out. I was running hard, constantly keeping a look at the leader. The gap closed to 100 feet right before the turn around, and all I could think was, "just 1.5 miles to go, just drop it now and he's yours." So I surged, and surged again, and as I hit the mile to go marker, I became dizzy. I was dehydated badly now, chills running through me, and my equilibrium off kilter. I hung on, desperate to close it down, but it was of no use. I was shot. I ended up giving time back, and came in second, just over a minute back. I walked over to congratulate the winner, excused myself, walked into the bushes and began vomiting violently. Even though I felt awful, and I needed to get fluids in me, what I realized was, I never, ever gave up, never stopped fighting, never allowed myself to feel defeated. Hell yeah I wanted the win, but this was the step in the right direction that I was looking for. It brough t back the fire, the desire to race, and the desire to win. And armed with that, the season looks a lot brighter already.
Guy
